Masochism
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: An exploration of the word, masochism, as it pertains to Steve and Danny. (AU, a little dark, in keeping with the definitions of the word) - a spin-off of the story, "Ho oku i," inspired by a review (see warnings inside). Each offering should be read as a separate story. Third installment: Steve angst (and hope; nothing heavy)
1. Gratification

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

**A/N:** Inspired by a review left for one of my chapters of, "Ho oku i," in which Afrieal mentioned the word, masochist, when describing Danny. This series will explore the three definitions, found in the online Miriam Dictionary, of the word masochism.

**mas·och·ism (ms-kzm) _n._**

**1. **The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused.

**A/N 2: **This is kind of a Plot-what-plot? kind of story, and I'm okay with that. It's mostly about Steve and Danny's relationship. My interpretations of the definitions are a little loose, and they may not be interpreted in the way that you would have interpreted them. I hope that is alright.

Having said that, sit back, have fun, though these are all a little on the...darker? side of the spectrum of Danny/Steve.

In this particular story, Danny and Steve are in an established relationship, and working undercover in a shady pornographic studio - both of them are playing the part of low-budget porn stars.

* * *

"You're a nothing but a horny slut. You'd fuck anything with a hole, wouldn't you?" Steve says, stalking around Danny, yanking hard on one of the man's balls, eliciting a sharp hiss from Danny.

Steve hates the words, the slick way that he delivers them, and the smug smirk that he's wearing, how he crouches and tugs on Danny's hair, pulls the man's head back, bearing Danny's neck, only to let it fall forward with a disgusted sneer.

"I ought to fuck you like the dog you are. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Steve almost chokes on the words, even as he makes his way around Danny, pinching and rubbing at patches of Danny's exposed skin that are already red and sore.

Steve hides what this is doing to him in a hard face that reveals nothing, donning a wicked grin that could be mistaken for pleasure. It makes him sick.

Kono would be proud of the time she'd spent working with him, preparing him for this role, getting him, and Danny, ready for their undercover assignment.

The FBI had come to them, eager for Steve and Danny - who fit the profile of the previous victims - to work alongside them in catching a serial killer, and breaking a sex ring which used a dubious pornography production studio as it's cover for what amounted to low-class, pseudo snuff videos.

According to the FBI, Danny and Steve were perfect for the roles. Danny - shorter in stature, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and a fuck-you-fuck-me mouth - was just the sort of man that the director was looking for, in more ways than one.

Steve - tall, dark-hair, hazel-eyes, and an air of danger that hung about him like a cloak - was the perfect foil, and the director could live, at least according to the FBI's anonymous sources (two men who'd made it out of the 'business,' and were in hiding), vicariously through McGarrett, who would act out his fantasies.

They're isolated in some backward part of the Big Island that's never even heard of Five-0, the FBI their only backup - Chin and Kono running Five-0 back at headquarters on Oahu (orders from the governor).

Deep in the country, surrounded by acres of treeless fields filled with sharp, volcanic rock, and walled in by mountains, it's a perfect location for illicit activity. To murder men, and get away with it.

Steve hates what the sum of all of this is doing to Danny. Hours turned to days, turned to weeks of Steve humiliating Danny in front of an intimately small crowd, while their FBI counterparts listen in, and record everything, waiting for the right moment, the information that they need, before they swoop in and bring an end to this humiliating farce.

Steve hates how the harsh words that he's forced to say make Danny drop his gaze - robbing Steve's view of Danny's expressive eyes, blue as the sky at noon. Hates the way that Danny licks his lips, and bows his head in a sign of submission. The way that Danny's arms tremble from holding this pose - on hands and knees - for hours on end.

Steve hates, even more, the way that Danny's dick flags, though the words are supposed to have the opposite effect on him. As if humiliating his partner, and calling him demeaning names is supposed to be a turn on.

Steve likes it best when Danny takes the lead - whether Danny's on top or splayed wide for Steve to take (when Danny tells him that he can, waiting to come at Danny's word). It's the only time that Steve lets someone else be in control, trusting Danny to guide him.

But, in this undercover op, they're playing the part of low budget porn stars, desperate for work, and Steve is taking the lead. It's a role that he's playing for cameras, a small crew, and the fucking FBI.

If they were home, Danny would be the one calling all the shots, not him, and sure as fuck not some impassioned director who's had a hardon for Danny the moment that he set eyes on him.

They've got a sex ring to bust, a killer to take down, and yet Steve wishes that they could tell the FBI to shove the case and find someone else to play their parts. He wants to be somewhere, anywhere, else with Danny. Get him away from all of the people who are watching, and the much too bright lights that almost blind them.

He wishes that Danny would lose that bruised, haunted look that he's been wearing for the past two weeks. It's in his eyes, even when they leave the studio after endless hours of work that give the director a few minutes of what he considers to be salvageable, 'quality,' work.

Steve wants Danny to share a shower, or a bed with him, rather than begging off, saying that he's exhausted, turning his back on Steve, and curling in on himself. They haven't had sex since they've started this assignment, haven't touched each other at all - aside from what Steve is directed to do to Danny while they're being filmed. Steve misses it. Misses Danny.

"Spank him," the director orders, not so subtly adjusting his jeans, and biting his bottom lip.

Hating himself, Steve does it. The sound reverberates in the small studio, the bare walls sending the sound back to Steve in stereo. Danny's fingers flex and curl into the carpeting, and he flinches, shifting on his knees.

Steve's money's on the director being the one who's been strangling the actors - all of them blonde-haired, blue-eyed cherubs. It's got to be him, because then Steve can legally kill the man for daring to look at Danny, daring to proposition his partner when the cameras are no longer rolling, and there aren't any witnesses.

"Again," the director orders, and he palms his jeans, hissing at the friction, face turning red.

Gritting his teeth, Steve strikes Danny's ass, not once, but three times. Each smack lands in the same exact spot on Danny's ass, and is progressively harder than the one that preceded it.

Steve's hand stings, and he inwardly curses when he realizes that he's left a palm print on Danny's left asscheek, that he let his anger toward the director get the better of him. That he took it out on Danny.

Heedless of the audience, Steve quickly kneels to assess his partner's condition, one hand automatically reaching for his partner's chin, pulling Danny's face up abruptly, and the other landing on Danny's shoulder.

Steve ignores the way that Danny trembles, and flinches, knowing and hating that he's the cause of Danny's pain, but helpless to do anything about it right now. His heart almost stops when he sees that there are tears in Danny's eyes, amplifying the blue of them, making them look like the ocean that Steve loves so much.

Danny's fingers are spread wide, as though that will help ease some of his pain, the tips of them sink deeply into the carpet - they'll leave marks, like the marks that Steve has left all over Danny's body throughout the course of filming the 'foreplay' for a porno which will never see the light of day.

Foreplay that will eventually, if they don't make a break in this case, lead to rough sex. There's nothing fake about the sex, or anything else that Steve's been doing to Danny for the past several weeks. The director's always unsatisfied with something - the way that Danny's breath hitches, or how Steve delivers a line - drawing this scene out to the point of absurdity. Surely this type of thing doesn't need that many takes.

Steve takes a moment to whisper, "I'm sorry, Danno, I'll make it up to you later," before he withdraws from his partner. Squeezing the man's shoulder, he stands, and taking a deep breath, he lightly slaps Danny's left hip, not liking the way that Danny whimpers - the first sound of pain that his partner's made since they started all of this.

Steve doesn't need to look, to know that the sound of irregular, heavy panting is coming from the director.

"Good, that was good," the director's voice is strained, and Steve knows that if this op doesn't end soon, he's going to shoot the director between the eyes. He'll gladly go to jail for it too, should it come down to that.

"I think we're ready to start filming the sex," the director says.

Steve turns away, bites the inside of his cheek, and closes his eyes. Breathing hard, through his nose, he curls his fingers into fists, the nails biting into his palm.

This has to end now. There's no way that he's going to fuck Danny in front of cameras, no way that he's going to let the FBI have front row seats to this dog and pony show.

"No," Steve says, shaking his head.

Danny's fingers clamp around his ankle, and Steve looks down at his partner. Danny, naked and trembling, is white as a sheet, and, though there are tears in his eyes, he gives Steve a look that tells him to stop being stupid, and to not blow their cover.

Sighing, Steve kneels in front of his partner, gripping Danny's face between the palms of his hands - his right so much warmer, from smacking Danny - and kisses him. He doesn't care about their dual audience, barely hears the director ordering the cameraman to get a close up of the handprint on Danny's ass, and then a closeup of the kiss.

Danny's mouth opens to him, and Steve - whether spurred on by the events of the past several weeks, or the lack of actual intimacy with Danny - is not gentle. Teeth clash, and tongues vie for dominance, and Steve moans when Danny's hand moves from his ankle to the back of his neck.

It's awkward, and the heat of the bright studio lights burn into Steve's back, but Steve doesn't care, because he's tasting Danny for the first time in too many weeks to count, and Danny isn't pushing him away, isn't turning his back, isn't telling him to fuck-off, even though, by all accounts he should be. Instead, Danny's kissing him back, just as aggressively - biting and pushing and fingers digging painfully into the back of Steve's neck.

The stinging pain grounds him, and Steve loses himself in the moment. Everything that is not Danny melts into the background - a dull, buzzing noise that's more annoying than anything else.

Dizzy, black dots invading his vision, Steve reluctantly ends the kiss, resting his forehead against Danny's for several erratic breaths. For the first time in what feels like forever, Danny's lips are turned upward in a slight smile, his eyes are no longer haunted, and Steve knows that he hasn't broken his partner as he'd half feared he had.

"This needs to end," he whispers to Danny.

Danny licks his lips, and nods, squeezing the back of Steve's neck.

The director shouts an abrupt, "Cut!" and the FBI swarms into the room, guns drawn and shouting out orders of their own.

Steve and Danny don't move, not until the FBI has finished making arrests, and they're left alone. Steve helps Danny to his feet, catching the man when he stumbles.

"Circulation's cut off," Danny mutters, his eyes downcast. He leans heavily against Steve, runs a hand through his hair, and chuckles in that self-deprecating way that Steve hates.

"Shit, Danny," Steve says, lifting Danny completely off his feet, and carrying him to their 'dressing room' (little more than a closet where they undressed and left their clothes). Steve ignores Danny's vociferous, and profane protests, not letting go of Danny until he's certain that the man won't topple over.

"Neanderthal," Danny accuses, lightly punching Steve in the arm.

Steve grins, insanely glad that Danny's insulted and hit him, because it means that maybe, when they get home, he'll be able to make things right with Danny. That, maybe, in spite of all that he's done to Danny - his palm print, a bright red mark on Danny's ass, like some kind of perverse tattoo, his hurtful, humiliating words cutting to the quick, stuck on rerun in Steve's head - Danny will be willing to forgive him.

Steve dresses quickly, and then helps Danny get into a pair of loose-fitting sweats and a shirt of his that is too big on Danny, knowing that Danny's skin is tender, and will probably be tender for weeks to come. Danny closes his eyes, and rests his head against Steve's chest.

"This feels good," Danny says, and he rubs the cuffs of the borrowed shirt between his fingers. "Smells like you."

Steve stiffens and frowns. "That a good, or a bad thing?"

Danny slaps him, and shakes his head, cracks an eye open and rolls it. "It's a good thing. God, I've missed you, Steven. I've missed us."

"Yeah?" Steve's voice is husky, and he's not sure he can trust it anymore.

"Yeah," Danny says. "I'm glad this," he waves his hand expansively, "is over, and that I get to have my Steve back."

"_Your _Steve?" Steve's heart is in his throat, and he finally understands what people mean when they say that they've got butterflies in their stomach.

"Yeah, _my_ Steve," Danny says a little crossly, thumping his hand against Steve's chest, but not hard enough to hurt. He bites his bottom lip and peers up at Steve, a blush creeping up his neck.

"Look, I'm sorry about...cutting you off," he plays with the edge of a cuff, but doesn't drop his gaze. "It's just, I couldn't...you know? And then play the part of your bitch in the studio."

Steve's heart stops, and then starts, and before his brain can communicate with the rest of him, he's kissing Danny again. This time it's slow and deliberate. Steve takes his time with the kiss, communicating in the best way he knows how, with actions, not words, just how much Danny means to him, and how sorry he is for everything that he's said, and everything that he's done.

"I'll make it up to you," Steve promises, lips pressed to Danny's, breathing in the spicy scent of his lover.

"Yes, you will," Danny says in a no nonsense tone.

"And, if the FBI ever dares to darken our door again, we are going to tell them to go to Hell," Steve says, his hands reflexively forming fists.

Danny sighs and places his hands on Steve's fists. "Babe, let's just get out of here, okay?"

Steve nods, and lets Danny lead the way, thoughts of gaining revenge against the FBI, and the director who'd coveted Danny's ass, momentarily stall as he enjoys the view. Danny wiggles his hips, letting Steve know that the man is more than aware of where Steve's eyes are trained.

"Horny?" Danny asks.

"In the worst way possible," Steve says, adjusting himself.

"Good," Danny says, and there's a sense of finality in the word. Steve groans, knowing that Danny's going to make him wait, but he's okay with that, because waiting means that, eventually, he'll have Danny.

"I love you, Danno." Steve snags Danny's wrist, sidles up alongside him, and twines his fingers through Danny's.

"I love you too, you big lug," Danny says.

And for now, it's enough just to hold Danny's hand, and wait.

* * *

Reviews would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Pleasure Derived

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**mas·och·ism (ms-kzm) **_**n.**_

**2. **The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.

**Warnings: **Features a Danny who wants to be hurt, and paid sex (though both partners pay an intermediary to hook them up, so it isn't typical prostitution, but rather a matchmaking sort of situation). Might be triggering for rape as this features pseudo-rape (rape fantasy). Danny's willing, and the violence, as well as Danny's protests, are part of the foreplay.

**A/N:** In this story, Danny's been hurt by his father's unwillingness to accept the fact that he likes boys, and he seeks out pain and sex with men who will give it to him - in this particular story Danny does have sex with an OC. It does have a 'happy' ending, with Steve coming to the rescue, and is, in a manner of speaking, pre-slash.

* * *

Every once in awhile, this is what Danny liked, and he sought it out as though he was a druggie looking for a fix. It was like an itch that needed scratching, and he didn't feel _right_ until this particular itch, when it came upon him, was scratched.

This is how he found himself standing outside of the house of someone named, Manny. The man's number and address had been given to him, passed to him beneath a table at a seedy bar that he frequented, only when he had this _itch, _which was two, maybe three times a year.

Though, lately, working with McGarrett seemed to make the itch come more frequently, and this was the second time, in as many months, that Danny had sought release for it. Danny refused to think about what that meant, and focused instead on the door that he'd yet to knock on.

He'd been assured that Manny was a professional, that his identity would not be divulged, even under threat, or torture. That promise wasn't reassuring. Danny knew that, in his line of work, he couldn't trust anyone, especially not those who would _bend _the law, and justify it to suit their needs.

Charles, the owner of the seedy bar that Danny had visited earlier that week, was such a man. He bent the law as he saw fit, and stayed just shy of actually breaking it.

Charlie's loose interpretation of the law suited Danny's purposes just fine. Even if the man _did _cross the line at some point in time, Danny knew that he wouldn't arrest him, and not just because of the amount of dirt that Charlie had on him.

In spite of the man's blatant disregard for the law, Danny liked the man, and not just because he helped him to scratch an itch, but because, when push came to shove, Charlie was a good man. He had a good, generous heart, and the way he talked about his wife and grandchildren gave Danny hope for his future.

Clearing his throat, because sentimentality was not something that Danny wanted bring into this, nor were thoughts of his sweet daughter. Grace did not factor into any of this, and Danny forced his thoughts away from her, and from Charlie and his grandchildren.

Innocence and Danny's itch did not mesh. But, oddly enough, or maybe not so oddly, thoughts of McGarrett - current bane of his existence, and pain in his ass - did. Frowning in thought, Danny adjusted himself as thoughts of McGarrett's more annoying habits - the things about that man that sometimes drove Danny to despair of life, or at least question his sanity - flashed in a tableau, not unlike a motion picture, across the forefront of his mind.

Danny shook himself, and focused his eyes on the door. He wasn't sure why he was hesitating now. He'd never hesitated before. It was strange, and he blamed it on McGarrett.

The man had been avoiding him lately, and Danny didn't know what he'd done to lose his partner's respect. Though he could be misreading Steve's recent quietness whenever he was around, and the way the man stiffened whenever Danny drew near, Danny was hard-pressed to think of what else it could be that had driven Steve to behave as though Danny was a leper.

Furthermore, Danny didn't understand why he was letting Steve get under his skin. Since the whole fiasco with Rachel, and then with his failed, almost serious relationship with Gabby, he'd made up his mind not to let himself get close to anyone else. He was, for all intents and purposes, an epic failure when it came to relationships - even with family (what had happened with Mattie was proof of that). So, Danny had made up his mind to keep things with Steve, Kono, and Chin strictly professional.

_Maybe that's why McGarrett's giving you the cold shoulder,_ Danny thought, but then he shook his head, and snorted. _As if. The Super SEAL's probably working on some top-secret mission, and is pushing people away so that he doesn't have to deal with any possible emotional aftermath._

Just as Danny made up his mind to close the gap between himself and the nondescript door, it opened inward, spilling light out onto the sidewalk. The light illuminated him, but it somewhat blinded Danny and made it difficult for him to get a clear view of the tall man as black dots danced before his eyes.

"You gonna stand out there all night and fuck yourself, or you gonna come inside and let me ride your ass?" Manny's voice was low and husky, and Danny's dick jerked in response to the man's rough tone, the way that he'd spit out the words.

Swallowing, Danny nodded, and he blinked, hoping to clear the few remaining dots from his vision. He wanted to get a good look at the man who'd paid Charlie to fuck him like a whore, because Charlie always chose tall, dark and handsome men for him.

Men who liked to take charge, and who Danny just who was boss. Men who weren't afraid of his big mouth, and loud hands. Men who weren't afraid that, by putting him in his place, bending him over a rail, or taking him against a wall, he'd break. Men who weren't afraid to knock Danny down a notch or two, make him beg for it, and then, before the night was over, have him crawling back for more.

Likewise, Danny had paid Charlie to be fucked by Manny, to have the man rough him up a little while he did it - a man who wouldn't take, 'no,' for an answer when Danny protested. He liked to be tied up, smacked around a little, not so much that it left him broken or bruised in places where others could see, but enough to make it seem like he'd put up a fight.

There was a time when Danny had been ashamed of this_ itch _of his. A time when he'd tried to use alcohol, and even drugs, as a substitute. They hadn't worked, and in the end, he'd wind up taking it up the ass, or swallowing some guy's dick in some back alley, or waking up in a cheap hotel room with some nameless, faceless asshole draped across his back.

It was an odd sort of business that Charlie ran, off-the-books, but one that was mutually beneficial, with both men paying to get laid. Of course, Charlie made out like a bandit. It didn't come cheap, but Danny'd scrimped and saved, cutting out some of his favorite treats, and he'd saved enough money to buy a night with Manny.

Manny's hand wrapped around Danny's wrist, and the man pulled him into the entryway, making Danny stumble. He landed against Manny's chest, and pushed back with his free hand, trying to right himself. Manny growled, and grabbed Danny's second wrist, dragging them together, behind Danny's back, leaving him more off-balance.

"Gonna fuck you so hard that you're gonna feel me all the way into next week," Manny whispered in his ear, making Danny shiver.

The man was even taller than Steve, and had dark hair longer than Toast's. He was big, had muscles that rivaled even McGarrett's, and they were covered in tattoos - some that Danny recognized as tribal. The man was Samoan, and probably had a thing for short, blonde haole's. Charlie knew how to match people together. He was a matchmaking wizard.

Danny swallowed hard, his dick already weeping with need. Manny wrapped both of Danny's wrists in one massive paw, eliciting a hiss of pain from Danny when his shoulders were wrenched backwards, painfully, and then he reached past Danny to shut the door, slamming it with a resounding, bang that echoed in Danny's head.

"Gonna fuck you like a bitch in heat," Manny said, letting go of Danny's wrists and flipping him around, immediately taking charge.

"Get the fuck off me," Danny said, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he started to fight off Manny, pushing back against him, trying to turn around so that he would at least have a fighting chance.

Knowing that he'd eventually lose the fight, and he'd be pinned to the floor, or maybe the door while Manny fucked him, only amped up the adrenaline rush that Danny was feeling. It was his drug of choice, this adrenaline rush, and it was fucking amazing.

Danny twisted suddenly, and aimed a punch at Manny's stomach, eyes widening when Manny easily parried it, and grabbed Danny's fist and spun him around, slamming him hard against the door. For a few seconds, Danny stopped breathing, and his vision swam. His ears rang and buzzed, but he shook off the odd sensation, and tried to fight back.

Manny's body was pressed against his. The doorknob dug into Danny's hip, and the pain kept him alert, gave him incentive to buck and shove back against Manny in an effort to throw the man off of him.

"You fucking bitch," Manny swore, and he grabbed Danny's wrists, pinned them above Danny's head, locking them in place with one of his mammoth hands, making Danny wince.

His wrists would be bruised, and Danny normally avoided that, he'd have to wear long-sleeved shirts at work, and keep the cuffs down over his wrists, covering them up so that prying eyes - namely Steve's - wouldn't see them. Steve couldn't find out about this - ever. Not only might his job be at stake, but he'd definitely lose McGarrett's respect for sure.

"Playing hard to get?" Manny breathed the words against the back of Danny's neck. "You know you want it, cunt, so stop fighting me. You know you want me, inside you, tearing you apart, fucking you, owning you."

"Get the fuck off of me," Danny said, feeling the first stages of panic blossom, warm and sharp, in his stomach, as he tried, but failed to throw off Manny's bulkier weight.

He didn't understand why he craved this, what it was about having someone hurt him, that made him feel better, and whole, after it was over. Why he seemed to thrive on the sick, panicky feeling that he got just before he was fucked.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Manny promised. "And then you're going to suck me off, and then I'm gonna fuck you again."

"No!" Danny shook his head, the panic making his gut tighten, and his voice sound too high-pitched.

Manny laughed, the sound making Danny's blood run cold, and then he reached around the front of Danny, and pulled at Danny's belt. Danny stomped on the man's foot, causing Manny to curse, but his hold on Danny's wrists remained firm, and Danny's belt slid to the floor with a quiet snick. Danny's slacks followed suit, pooling around his feet. Danny could feel Manny's cock, pressing against his lower back, and his panic increased as he realized just how big Manny really was.

No matter how much Danny prepared himself ahead of time - lubing and stretching- it always hurt, being fucked. This time would be no different.

Manny made quick work of Danny's boxers, while Danny tried to wriggle out of his hold, snapping his head backward in an attempt to headbutt the guy. Manny slammed his body against Danny's, pinning him, the doorknob digging into his side hard enough to bruise.

Danny heard the familiar sound of a zipper being lowered, and he struggled, hard, to free himself. There was a small part of him that really didn't want this, that argued he was crazy, and yet his body seemed to be screaming for Manny to fuck him.

Manny wasted no time. With a brutal thrust, he grunted, and buried himself balls deep into Danny, and then he started moving, pulling out and then slamming into Danny, over and over again, pulling Danny's body with him, and smashing Danny up against the door, causing the door handle to dig into his side. Danny pleaded for him to stop, begged Manny to let him go, but the man kept up his brutal thrusts.

"You know you want this, bitch," Manny said, licking at a spot behind Danny's ear, and then sucking at Danny's earlobe. "Stop acting like you don't want me, that you haven't been wanting me, that you don't want this."

He grunted and picked up the pace. Danny's ass burned, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks. He was shaking, and yet, when the head of Manny's dick brushed against his prostate, Danny saw stars, and he started matching Manny's vicious thrusts, taking as much of the man as he could.

For several long minutes, or maybe it was only a few, mind-blowing seconds, Danny's world was rocked on its axis. The animalistic sounds of grunting, flesh slapping against flesh, and incoherent moaning echoed in the small foyer, and Danny felt dirty, humiliated, disgusted with himself.

When Manny came with a final thrust and a howl, stiffening inside of Danny, Danny continued to push back on him. Time seemed to stop as Danny was filled with a sticky, squirming warmth that leaked from his ass when Manny pulled out of him with a distinctive squelch.

Manny released Danny's wrists, and then took a step backwards, leaving Danny to crumble to the floor, sliding down the door, landing on his knees. He sat there, trying to learn how to breathe again. Thoughts of what it would be like to have Steve moving inside of him, grunting and panting, and calling out Danny's name when the man howled and came while buried deep inside of Danny's ass, came to him unbidden, and Danny fought down the sudden bile that rose in his throat.

Before he'd fully regained his senses, Manny was on him again, pulling him, by his hair, away from the door. Danny scrambled to gain purchase on the floor, but it was useless, and he focused his energy on trying to throw Manny off balance.

"You fucking cunt," Manny said, backhanding him when Danny had managed to land a wayward punch, catching the man in lower thigh.

Danny tasted blood, and his head swam, and, when Manny tossed him on the bed, as though he weighed little more than a sack of potatoes, Danny knew that this time would be different than the others. This time, he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew.

His cell phone rang, the tinny sound echoing in the corridor. Danny immediately recognized the ringtone - it was Steve's - and he groaned.

"Fuck, I've got to get that," he said, trying to push past Manny, but the man, either thinking that it was part of what he'd paid for when he'd given Charlie the cash, or not caring, refused to let Danny go.

Danny pulled a hand through his hair, and, no longer interested in whatever else Manny had in store for him, he laid a hand on Manny's chest, trying to push the man, who'd straddled him, off of him. The phone kept ringing, and Manny twisted Danny's hand, nearly snapping his wrist.

"Ouch, fuck, look, that's my boss," Danny hissed. "If I don't answer..."

"What's he gonna do?" Manny asked, bucking against Danny. The man was already hard again, and Danny was quickly losing interest as his phone stopped ringing, only to start up again.

"Well, Manny," Danny said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "He's going to trace my cell phone, and come over here and kick your ass, and, I'm going to cheer him on."

Sagging against the bed when Manny refused to move, Danny sighed, and then he sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. The phone stopped ringing, only to start up with Chin's ringtone. Now Danny was really and truly going to be in some deep shit. If Steve had asked Chin to call him, that meant they'd gotten a new case, or the governor needed them for something. Either way, Danny was figuratively screwed.

"How many bosses you got?" Manny asked when the phone stopped and started ringing, this time with Kono's ringtone. The man paused above Danny, his dick within inches of Danny's mouth, already leaking pre-cum as the man bore down on him.

Danny's wrists were pinned above his head - apparently this was something that Manny liked - as his phone continued to ring. Soon, though, the sound of his phone was lost in the buzzing rush that filled his head when he fought to for breath around Manny's thick cock as the man fucked his face.

Danny focused on pleasuring Manny, hoping that the man would come soon, and that he could leave, because as much as he'd been looking forward to this, knowing that his team was looking for him, and that he was letting them down, put a distinct damper on things. Danny was no longer enjoying himself. His itch had been sufficiently scratched.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Manny grunted, and came, spurting seed into Danny's mouth. Danny swallowed, and gulped at the air when his throat was no longer obstructed.

"Onto your stomach," Manny said, and Danny shook his head.

"This is over," he said, putting his hands on Manny's chest, only to have the man flip him, and then straddle his hips.

"You can't be hard already," Danny reasoned when the man started rutting against his ass.

"You're a hot bitch," Manny said.

"C'mon," Danny pleaded. "Look, we both got what we paid for, it's time to..."

A series of loud knocks cut Danny's words off, and his eyes widened in horror when he heard, "This is Five-0, open the door, now."

"Fucking idiotic SEAL," Danny muttered. "Jumping to conclusions." He tried to twist, and sit up, but Manny refused to move.

"Fuck," Manny said, and then he was inside of Danny's already sore ass, fucking him as the door was kicked in, and Danny's team raced into the room. Manny didn't let their egress slow him down any, and Danny couldn't help his body's response when his cock brushed against his prostate. He was only dimly aware that Steve had moved to the head of the bed, and that the man was bodily trying to pull Manny off of him, even as the man continued riding his sore ass.

"Gang bang the bitch," Manny said, and then Danny's ears were filled with an unholy roar and suddenly Danny was alone, his bare ass cold and quivering.

"Get him out of here," Steve ordered.

Danny kept his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see, not wanting to explain. He wanted to pretend that none of this had happened, to go back and erase decades of seeking out the pain, the humiliation, that this act brought him.

Soon, the sounds of Manny, loudly protesting his arrest, and Kono and Chin reading him his rights as they shuffled him out of the door, faded into nothing, the door slammed, and the bed dipped. Steve's hand landed on Danny's back, gentle, yet heavy. Danny flinched, and immediately regretted his reaction.

In spite of his protests, his fighting, he'd wanted it. He'd wanted what Manny had given him, what he could never ask Steve, or anyone else that he cared about for. He'd wanted Manny to take what Danny could never freely offer any man, because he'd grown up being told that it was wrong, that, what he was - a man who liked both men and women, bi- was wrong.

Danny refused to acknowledge the tears that came as the memories that he'd locked away returned, in full force. His father's booming voice, the feel of the man's hands around his throat, choking him, trying to rid Danny of the demon that he'd been certain had gotten into his son when he'd caught Danny and Michael Carnegie kissing when they should have been studying.

After that, Danny's door had to be kept open whenever he had anyone over. He'd stopped inviting friends over, instead opting to sneak out of the house when his father refused to let him visit or study with a friend. He'd started to defy his father in secret - meeting up with men nearly twice his age. He'd lost his virginity to a janitor in the boiler room of the school.

"Danny, you okay?" Steve asked hesitantly. "I...I panicked when you didn't answer your phone. And Chin located you by tracing your cellphone."

Danny snorted, and turned his head so that he could glare at his partner.

"And, I just...when I saw him, on top of you like that, I...oh fuck Danny, I just, I lost it," Steve said, dragging a hand through his hair, and giving Danny a haunted look. "Did he hurt you?" Steve's hand skimmed along Danny's side, making him shiver.

Danny sighed, and closed his eyes. Swallowing, he took a deep breath and then started talking, spilling every sordid detail to Steve, who sat and listened, only interrupting to ask questions that helped guide Danny's telling. When he was done, Danny's throat was dry and hoarse, and he felt drained, emptied completely of words.

Steve didn't say anything for a long time, and Danny's heart sank. The man's hand was resting on Danny's back, every now and again rubbing at a sore spot.

Danny was too afraid to look at his partner, terrified of what he'd see reflected in Steve's eyes. Terrified of seeing the same rejection that he'd seen in his father's eyes when the man had caught him with Michael.

"Danny," Steve started, and then he cleared his throat, and Danny chanced a look at him. The man's jaw was held so tightly that Danny could see the muscle jumping in it, and his face was a mask of something that Danny couldn't quite read. A face Danny didn't yet have a name for.

"Steve, McGarrett," Danny wasn't sure what to call his partner, wasn't sure if he'd be back to working for the HPD, or if he'd be heading back to Jersey, without Grace - his heart nearly broke when he thought about what he'd done, and how it could hurt his little girl, the shame that this would bring her should word of what he'd done get out.

"I," Danny closed his eyes, and then plunged forward. "I'll have my office packed up in the morning, and..."

"Shut up, Danny," Steve said, and Danny held his breath. "Just shut the hell up, and listen, okay?"

Danny nodded, fearful of saying something that might set Steve off, and make the man stop talking.

"Look, I..." Steve ran a hand down his face. "I think that maybe you need help, you know, dealing with this." He gestured around the room, at Danny's bruised wrists. "But, I want you to know, that, if you get this...urge, this _itch_, again, you can call me, okay? Just, call me, and I'll, fuck Danny, I'll do whatever the hell you want me to, okay? Just not with a stranger again. Not with some random guy that you find in an alley, or at a bar, or wherever the hell you get these people from, okay?"

Wide-eyed, Danny nodded.

"I need you to promise me that you'll call, not just nod your head, Danny. You're just, you're, fuck, Danny, you're too damn important for me to lose you like this," Steve said. "That guy could've killed you, and..."

Danny shook his head, but Steve held a finger up in his face, shaking it, stopping Danny's protest with a purse of his lips.

"He could've killed you, Danny, any of them could have," Steve said, his hand a comforting warmth on the back of Danny's sore, bruised hip. "And," Steve's voice grew husky, and he dropped his gaze. "Danny, I wouldn't do this to you, I wouldn't hurt you, not like this."

"But..." Danny's protest died on his lips when Steve's crushed against them, swallowing the rest of Danny's words.

It wasn't the best kiss that Danny had ever had, and, judging by the look on Steve's face when the man pulled back, relinquishing Danny's lips, it hadn't been his best kiss either. But, Danny''s heart skipped several beats, and he felt as though he'd stuck his finger in a light socket.

"Shit," Steve exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was flush, and Danny wondered if the man had felt the same jolt of electricity that he had when their lips had touched.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" Danny asked, once he'd caught his breath.

He waggled his eyebrows, and then laughed when Steve's face became beet-red. For the first time since his father had caught him with Michael, Danny felt like he was whole again. He knew that the itch wouldn't be back, but, if, on the off-chance it did, he knew that Steve would help him through it.

* * *

Reviews are greatly appreciated - I know that this particular story was a bit heavy (or at least that's my take on it) with regard to subject matter. Not sure how it comes off to those who have the perspective of distance from the piece, and feedback would be appreciated.


	3. Want

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**mas·och·ism (ms-kzm) **_**n.**_

**3. **A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.

**Warnings: **None, really, other than language.

**A/N: **This is Steve angst, and is pre-slash. Danny calls Steve a masochist, and Steve broods. In the end, there is hope.

* * *

_"You're a masochist, Steven," _Danny's words reverberated in Steve's head as he pushed himself to, and then past his breaking point, needing to feel something other than Danny's anger directed at him. Needing to feel the burn of pain that Danny had accused Steve of liking when he'd taken down a perp by throwing himself at the man, from a second story window.

It wasn't working, and Steve pushed himself a little more, his lungs burning with the strain, the muscles in his arms and legs aching.

_It's not working, Steven, _Danny's voice was sarcastic, knowing. _Because, you want me. You want me, but know you can't have me._

Danny had never said anything like that to him, and, as far as Steve knew, Danny had no clue of his more personal interest in his partner. Even so, Steve growled at his mind's version of Danny, and swallowed a mouthful of ocean water in the process.

Winded, the taste of briny salt water in his mouth, Steve made a final stroke, sending himself further out into the ocean, and then he dove beneath the surface of the water and went as deep as he could. He stayed under the water until white spots filled his vision, and his lungs felt like they were going to implode. The need for oxygen overtook him before he really wanted to go to the surface, and his head burst out of the water, like a dolphin coming up for air.

Steve gasped, swallowing down even more of the ocean's water, and he turned toward where he knew his home was. The shore was distant – little more than a long, thin stretch of browns and greens that he could barely make out.

Feeling a little more in control of himself – the muscles of his arms and legs twitching, and aching from pushing them so hard – Steve treaded water and contemplated Danny's words. The last words that Steve had heard from his partner before the man had thrown his hands into the air and stormed off, leaving Steve at the scene of the crime and without a ride back to the office.

When he'd arrived at headquarters, with Kono, Danny was gone – a post-it note clinging to the door of Steve's office indicating that he'd gone to pick up his daughter, Grace, and that he'd be back, bright and early on Monday morning. It was Saturday morning now, and Steve couldn't get those four words of Danny's out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried, they just didn't want to leave.

And, the way that Danny's face had been set in hard lines, spittle flying from his lips, the red that had crept up Danny's neck before blooming in his face – all of it had been a turn-on to Steve, and he'd been hard-pressed to actually listen to what it was that Danny had been saying. As it was, he'd only taken in a single sentence of Danny's whole diatribe, spoken in a harsh, clipped tone, Danny's index finger stabbing a bruise into Steve's chest.

Steve rubbed at the spot – a dark, purpled bruise that was turning green around the edges. It still ached, or at least he imagined that it did. The imagining of it, drawing him nearer to Danny.

Sighing, Steve took a deep breath, and then swam for shore, dogged each stroke by thoughts of Danny.

_Danny stripped down to nothing but boxers, head of his swollen cock poking through the slit at the front. _

_Danny, naked, hands cuffed to the headboard of Steve's bed, blue eyes filled with lust as Steve straddled him. _

_Danny, shirtless, tie hanging loosely around his neck, back muscles flexed and bulging, panting and moaning as Steve fucks him, hands splayed across the table computer, fingers entwined with Steve's. _

_Danny, crouched alongside the shore, pink bucket and shovel in hand, head turned away, facing a little girl in pigtails, musical laughter drowning out the sound of waves..._

Steve blinked, and wiped at his eyes, but the vision of Danny, and Grace, building a sandcastle – Danny dutifully filling the pink bucket with wet sand while Grace dug a moat – remained steadfast, and he vaguely recalled that Danny had asked if Grace could come over during the weekend, and that he'd agreed to it.

Steve was too far away to make out what it was that father and daughter were saying to each other, but every once in awhile, Grace or Danny's laughter would float over the surface of the ocean to him. It made Steve's heart do a funny, fluttery thing in his chest, seeing Danny digging in the sand.

Cursing as another member of his body reacted to seeing Danny, on his beach, carefree and laughing, Steve stopped propelling himself forward and started to tread water, shoving one hand down into his swim trunks.

Steve wrapped his fingers around his dick, and started stroking, breath coming in harsh, jagged gasps, swallowing more ocean, and sputtering, head going under as he pictured Danny – lips apple red, tongue wet and warm, licking a trail along the underside of Steve's dick. Bobbing back up, spitting water out of his mouth, Steve established a rhythm with his hand, jerking himself off to thoughts of Danny.

When Steve came, it felt like he'd been struck by lightning and he dipped below the surface of the water and pulled himself back up, clawing his way toward the ocean's surface. Danny's laughter bouncing along the waves, made its way to him, and Steve saw stars – bright gold, red, and silver things. Biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound that would cause father and daughter to look up, and see their peeping Tom, Steve breathed deeply, and then resumed his homeward swim.

_Maybe I am a masochist, _Steve thought, watching Danny play with Grace, and wishing that he could send the little girl home so that he could have Danny all to himself. _Wanting something that I cannot have, and yet inviting it over, time and time again. _

Danny, on his beach, was the very definition of torture, and as Steve got his feet under himself, in the shallows, he plastered a smile on his face. Even if he couldn't have Danny in the way that he wanted to, Steve was content to have the man in close proximity, even if it was an unpleasant, trying thing that made him ache like hell – he'd endure it, and never act on his feelings, for Danny's and Five-0's sake. It was a torture that he was more than willing to endure, because not having Danny in his life would be unbearable.

"Danno, Grace," Steve greeted, and Grace ran toward him, flinging her arms around his middle. Steve bent down and wrapped his wet arms around her, planted a kiss on the top of her head, and winked at Danny.

The look on Danny's face, something that was half-chastisement, and half love, caused Steve's heart to flutter in his chest, and he extricated himself from Grace's arms. Muttering an excuse about needing to take a shower, he walked away from the father and daughter with long, quick strides, tossing over his shoulder that he'd be back, and that Danny and Grace should stay for dinner – steaks on the grill, potatoes, fresh mango from his neighbor's tree, delivered just yesterday, and salad.

He barely heard Danny's acceptance of the invitation, and made a beeline for the shower, already hard, and aching again. The shower worked wonders on Steve's abused muscles, and he thought once again about what Danny had called him a masochist: someone who derived pleasure from pain, who willingly put himself through unpleasant or trying experiences.

"If only you knew the half of it, Danno," Steve whispered, his eyes catching his own reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror, latching onto the bruise Danny's finger had left on his chest, just above his heart. "How hard it is to work beside you, and know that..."

"To know what, Steven?" Danny's voice echoed in his head, and Steve closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the glass of the mirror.

"That I can never have you, not the way that I want to. It's torture, Danno, that's what it is. Fuck, I'm even daydreaming about you and I've got my very own inner-Danno, like Pinocchio's Jiminy Cricket." Steve's throat felt dry and tight, and he almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand, warm and firm, on the back of his shoulder. He held his breath, his heart pounding like a madman in his chest.

"And now I'm hallucinating," Steve said with a moan.

"And, apparently talking to yourself," Danny's voice sounded amused, and the hand moved from Steve's shoulder down to rest on the outside of Steve's hip, making his skin break out in gooseflesh.

"Shit, I can't do this now, not with Danny and Grace out on the beach. Keep it together, McGarrett," Steve said in his best imitation of Joe White's commanding tone. It didn't work when that hand slid lower, and lightly slapped his ass.

"Yeah, no telling what Danny would do if he knew that his super SEAL partner wanted something a little more than a strictly working partnership," Danny's voice was a sarcastic drawl. "He'd probably run from the premises, pulling Grace behind him, screaming like a little girl because he learned that his partner was lusting after him."

Something about the tone of voice that his inner-Danno had used, and the way that the hand was now cupping, and lightly squeezing his ass, made Steve's breath hitch, and he turned away from his contemplation of the salmon-colored streak that ran through his faux marble sink. He couldn't breathe when he realized that the conversation he thought he'd been having in his head, was actually being had with the living, breathing, Danny, in the flesh.

Danny wasn't quite smirking at him, and Steve frowned. "What the hell?"

"I thought that maybe you'd drowned," Danny said, shrugging, his hand dropping away from Steve's ass, a little reluctantly if the sad puppy dog look on Danny's face was anything to go by. "Grace made me come up and check on you when your shower lasted longer than the allotted...what was it, five, or ten minutes?"

Steve blinked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "How," Steve swallowed. "How long?"

Danny shrugged, and smiled, tucked his hands into his back pocket as though keeping them from reaching and touching Steve. "Oh, about an hour...and a half."

"Fuck," Steve said, sagging against the sink.

"Yeah, not typical SEAL behavior," Danny said. "Grace and I were worried."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine," Steve ground out, and he tried to push past Danny, but the man stood in his way.

"No, Steven, you are not fine," Danny said, challenging him. "But, don't worry, I'll get you there."

Steve drew in a sharp breath, aroused by the way that Danny's voice had dipped to a lower octave. He licked his lips.

"How?" the word sounded wrecked and broken, and Steve was not above begging, pleading with Danny.

"Tonight," Danny said. "After Grace has been tucked into bed, and sleeping soundly."

Steve could only nod, and gulp at air.

"Get dressed, we're having sandwiches and chips – don't say a word Steven, a handful of chips is not going to make a dent in that six pack of yours – for lunch," Danny said, and then he turned and walked away, his hips swaying suggestively.

Steve could only watch Danny, jaw on the floor. The soft click of his door as Danny shut it behind him spurred Steve into action, and he tamped down on the images that Danny's promise – tonight – had brought to the forefront of his mind.

It would be torture, going through the afternoon, and the evening with Danny just out of reach, but, in the end, it would be worth it. Steve knew that in the marrow of his bones, and it had nothing to do with the fantasies that he'd been having, but with how warm and comfortable, and _right _Danny's hand had felt on his ass.

There was a spring to his step as Steve walked into his kitchen, the sight of Grace and Danny at work, making tuna sandwiches a welcome one. Their easy manner and laughter echoing back to him, inviting him into their inner circle, making him feel like a part of their family, and loved.

* * *

Reviews are greatly appreciated.


End file.
